The Saga of Mister Wilcox
by IcyDragnos
Summary: A scientist from 2010, with a suit from 3010, in a world that still thinks making marbles from souls is totally a-okay. OC insert, not to be taken internally.


Good lord. Apparently, writing a self/OC/banana-insert fic for TOS is a rite of passage. What interesting fun this will not turn out to be, due to my crippling procrastination.

"_Greetings, Mister or Missus JAMES WILCOX."_

The computerised voice stilted over the loudspeaker, while James Wilcox, PhD, tightened his necktie too much. He struggled frantically with the offending article, before falling backwards over his bag.

"_The time is TEN FORTY THREE. You are SEVENTY THREE minutes late."_

Dull thumping noises clunked, as James thrashed around on the floor, trying to loosen the twisted knot around his neck. Onlookers and fellow scientists passed around him, taking photos to post on 4chan.

"_Today, you have ONE event on schedule. Head to SECTOR 8-R for TRANS-UNIVERSAL PHYSICS for EXPERIMENT-bzzt-"_

There was a deep wheeze as James ripped the traitorous tie from his collar. He looked around, noted the bystanders looking at him, and walked off stiffly; trying to keep some dignity he had left.

Seconds later he ran back, grabbed his bag, and cursed vehemently while sprinting to Sector 8-R.

"Ah, welcome, James," the elderly scientist, Doctor Alexander, glanced at the wreck by the door. "I do believe that nine-thirty was when I wanted you here."

_Deep breaths, Jimmy. You don't want to choke the old man. Nature will do that for you._ "I have a commute of an hour and a half. Don't pull that crap with me."

"A true scientist must be ready at all times, young James," tutted the senior scientist, "Especially if he chose to live on the other side of a city from his job."

"You called me at nine! On my day off, no less! For an experiment that isn't meant to happen until next week!"

Alexander gave him the old man look.

James stood resolutely in his indignation.

Alex sighed, and went back to his computer, tapping lightly on the console. "Very well. But you should be happy for getting overtime pay, and getting to see some interesting sights." He returned to what appeared to be simulations of jiggle physics.

James popped open a Hubba Bubba gum pack, and snuck over to the camera arrays, which were showing fantastic footage of a blank wall. "Hey Alex. What are we doing anyway?"

Alex looked up from his sultry simulation to raise an eyebrow at James, and said, "We are utilising terajoules of energy centred around a securely contained Higgs boson, in order to observe a physical rendering of space-time in full, as well as testing for parallel-"

"Layman's terms, Doctor, I'm quite jolly pissed right now."

Raising his other eyebrow, Alex coughed, and started, "We're making a very big bang, to see the pretty colours. Then, we're going to walk through the hole, and see what's on the other side."

James nodded, chewed methodically on the squishy lump, and wondered, "But I don't see any mechanised equipment on the cameras, and there aren't many people here."

Alex lowered both his eyebrows, and returned to his porn. "Well, the experiment doesn't start for a good three hours, and the trial will be done by direct hands-on action by you."

James started to complain about having been called too early, but his brain seized the rest of the sentence and shoved it in his face.

"I'm gonna WHAT?"

"This totally violates my contract," James muttered through the HAZMAT suit. He adjusted his equipment once more, and stepped into the chamber. His radio crackled in, and Alex's voice filtered through his earplugs. Meanwhile, the computer voice was counting down from sixty seconds. "And what's with this suit, anyway. Looks like a bunch of fancy chunks of metal."

"That's a Class 13 Hazardous Environmental Live Protection Suit, or the "Walking Safety Blanket". And I do think that this is covered under "Horribly Dangerous Experimentation SOP" in section four," the voice echoed in his ear before static-ing, "Besides, it's not as if we follow actual ethics."

"_Fifty six…fifty five…"_

James stopped. "Wait, ethics?"

He could see Alex sighing through the safety glass, "We're specialised scientists dealing with near-future equipment. Didn't you ever wonder why we had super advanced technology, or why everyone laughed at your Dual Degree in Advanced Theoretical Physics and Advanced Materials Chemistry? It's horribly unsafe to work here."

"_Thirty nine…thirty eight…"_

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Alex shrugged. "We thought you knew," he said, as the triple layer safety glass came down.

"God, you guys are assholes, James muttered through the mic.

"And yet, you're the one in with the dimensional fabric tearing machine."

James glared impotently, urging his body to spontaneously evolve laser eyes.

"Most people only work here 'cause of the pay. Or the lasers. Or Strip Club Poker Friday."

"_Nine…eight…"_

"You're shitting me."

Alex held back another chuckle, and grinned, "Well, of course. It's actually Strip Club Poker Tuesday."

James would have responded, quite profanely, but the computer had finalized the countdown, and everything went skewed.

"Raine! Raine! I think he's hurt!"

James was awakened from his short coma by the prepubescent whining of a small child, amplifying his horrible headache. Years of working as a scientist meant he would get as much sleep as he could get, and such a thing was not to be interrupted by a child.

Thus, he listened for the source of the voice, did a few mental calculations and positioning, and shot out his arm to grab one Genis Sage by the throat.

"Hey, I think he's _hurrrrk_-"

The kid struggled in his grasp, and several voices piped up.

"Hey, let go of Genis!"

"Let him go, you big meanie!"

"Release my brother at once!"

The combined weight of irate voices piled on James' ear, and he released Genis in a fit of nausea. When he felt that his brains wouldn't spontaneously explode, he opened his eyes.

It was a sparse, wooden classroom, scattered with desks and forgotten lunches. The walls looked thin, and there was a curiously shaped hole in the front of the classroom. He seemed to be at the back of the room, and sopping wet from spilt buckets. Around him stood a group of teenagers and small children.

However, what caught his attention the most was the large tower in the far distance through the windows, over the ocean, and through nice, plain fields. Nice, _un-urbanised_ fields, with no cities in sight.

James said the only thing that came to mind, "Ow, my head really goddamn hurts."

And thus begins this totally unserious romp into Symphonia. Can you believe this is my second time writing fiction?

Next time, on _The Saga of Mister Wilcox_: James finds that his suit has the most assholish AI ever, forgives the assholishness for gratuitous application of Advil, and that tasers don't work well on four thousand year old mercenaries.


End file.
